Pleasure in the Dark
by Meggy97
Summary: Sexual Content What if Penryn hadn't saved Raffe off the street when his wings were cut - they wouldn't have met! ... or at least not face-to-face. A little alternative story line where they help each other relax after a stressful day I'm not very happy with how this one came out and just couldn't figure the ending, but I hope somebody somewhere enjoys a bit more Raffryn smut


Sighing wearily Penryn observed what would be her home for the night. It had been months since the attacks first started and humanity was slowly attempting to rebuild itself from scraps. But every time they started to rise, the angels made sure to squash them back into the dirt.

Whoever had come up with the idea of renovating old sheds, public toilets and showers into inns was either a do-gooder or a desperate bastard. She had traded in one of her best stolen knives to buy herself a place for a night. Sheets had been strung up to separate the building into small 2x1 'rooms'. Heavier firearms would have bought her a mattress but she wasn't quite that desperate yet.

Slipping behind an old curtain, she pulled a blanket from her pack and took her sweater off, bundling it up into a pillow and settled herself down onto the cold hard floor, shivering as the drafts from the broken windows and loose doors skimmed along the ground.

Her muscles were tense from constant fear. The knowledge that there could be one of the evil bastards flying overhead or tracking her through the thick forests had taken its toll and she struggled with ever letting her guard down. Even in sleep, she had a knife in one palm and woke at the slightest sounds. Counting her breaths, she slowly lulled herself into half-consciousness, resting her eyes and fighting the impulse to snap them open every time one of the other occupants rustled or sighed in sleep. Darkness was pulling her down with welcoming hands and her body slowly relaxed.

Just on the edge of an exhaustion-induced sleep, she heard it. A shrill squeak. Weak at first. Then it grew louder and rhythmic. More even, insistent. Penryn knew what it was. Sex has its own distinct cadence, different from any other.

Fuck, she thought. I just don't need this. I really don't. Her jaw clenched, fists balled by her sides, knuckles turning white as bone pressed against skin. She tensed in anticipation of the moans and exhortations she was sure would follow. But they didn't.

"Jesus fucking Christ," she muttered into the dark.

The squeaking stopped. For a moment there was almost total silence. Then a rustle and a squeal of mattress springs. A disembodied male voice spoke. "What?"

It was a challenge. Her mind raced. What could she say?

"Can you keep the squeaking down? I'm exhausted and could do with a decent night's sleep."

"I can't help it. It's the mattress. I breathe and it squeaks."

What an asshole, she thought, experiencing an unexplainable surge of temper.

"You weren't just breathing. Take your $10 hooker somewhere else."

A pause again. From somewhere she felt a gust of frigid air brush the nape of her neck.

"I don't have a $10 hooker. I was just having a wank. Can't a guy have a wank in peace?"

Penryn laughed, struck by the ludicrousness of the situation. "Can't you manage it a little more quietly?"

Silence again, and then a few tentative squeaks. "No. It's this awful mattress."

"Can't you do it without bouncing?"

"I'm not bouncing."

"Yes you are."

"Not really. It's… the mechanics of it."

She sighed up into the darkness. "Well…" she pondered for a bit. "Just… just get it over with fast, okay?"

She heard him take a deep breath and exhale it with a little tremor of angst. "You could help."

"Fuck you."

"That would help."

"Fuck you!" she said even louder.

"Could you sigh again? Like you did before. I like that sound. It would help…speed things up."

"Are you out of your mind?" Penryn demanded incredulously.

"I don't think so. But I'm definitely horny."

She frowned into the blackness, gnawed on her lip a little. Then, very carefully, she sighed.

The squeaking started up immediately. "Nice. Don't stop."

She tried to put some air and some drama into the next one. Letting out a long, plaintiff sighing breath.

"Oh, lovely." Now it wasn't just the rhythmic squeaking. There was a clearly identifiable sound of moist cock being stroked. "How about a moan?"

It was impossible not to picture what he was doing. Although Penryn had never laid eyes on the possessor of the voice, her mind hatched vivid images of his hand around the shaft of his cock, moving it up and down.

She let out a theatrical, porny moan.

"God… that's brilliant. And again…please."

As idiosyncratic as she knew the entire situation to be, she was developing that edgy itch of lust. Her clit ticked, keeping time with her thumping pulse.

Very carefully–because she didn't want him to hear– she spread her legs, pulled her knees up, and slid a hand between her thighs. Her cunt was swollen and ripe. Her ring finger sank pleasingly between labia into a hot, fleshy mess.

The moan she gave him was less dramatic and more heartfelt.

It was no longer an effort. She was pretty sure it wasn't even conscious. And quite soon it didn't bother her in the least if he heard her clothing and blanket rustling as she canted her hips to meet her fingers. In that suffocating darkness all she could see was his hand tugging at his cock with delicious abandon. Her fingers matched the cadence of his mattress springs, pushing into her cunt with each distinct squeak.

And she wasn't just moaning any longer. She was panting and whimpering.

"Fuck, I'm going to come."

"Then do it. Do it!"

Penryn really didn't know if they came at exactly the same moment – she was too busy cutting off the blood supply to her fingers with her inner muscles and twitching like a maniac – but it was damn close.

She rolled over onto her side and wiped her fluids up with the rumpled sheet.

"It was good for you too, wasn't it?" the gruff voice challenged.

"Yeah," she admitted reluctantly, torn between absolute exhaustion and the fear she was going to suffocate on her own scent.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Raffe relaxed slowly, shattered after such an intense release of such pent-up frustration. He was slightly ashamed at himself for even conversing with the Daughter of Man, let alone cumming to her voice. But who would ever find out? And he would be out and back on the road to the aerie before any of the monkeys awoke the next morning, he wouldn't have to interact with the owner of the voice. Though he couldn't prevent his mind from wandering to construct an image of the woman.

Chiding himself, he closed his eyes, blanking out the constant pain throbbing along his wing joints. The release had succeeded in taking his mind off his stolen wings, but now it was almost impossible to obsess over anything else. Grunting, he rolled onto his side, feeling the blood seep into the dark shirt he had ripped from the body of a dead monkey.


End file.
